Eyes
Scanned
Sentences
Today

Less than
Sixty
Tick
Tocks

Yesterday

Life
Taken
Away

Neck
Noosed

Hold
On
Tight

Body
Too light

To switch
Off
The
Light

Legs
Pulled

Gurgling
Goodnight

My neck noosed
My legs loosed
I witness the tragic
It seems so emphatic
I feel entropy
Enter me
Centering
Around love and pain
I wear gloves of shame
Toxicity taints touch
My reaction is to cautiously recoil
For I feel a great punch
When I expect them to be loyal
A tear rolls down my cheek
Navigating scars
Like a man who is meek
Navigating bars
It starts and stops
Then keeps going
The tears drop
From what I'm knowing
That my time is evaporating
Dealing with the exasperating

I feel I can be caring
I just need the chance
We'll see how I'm fairing
On the end of your lance
Penetrating deeply
The pain is unceasing
Like a thousand bee stings
While you stand there feasting
Making me feel alive
From the pain inside

I guess things could always be worse
Sometimes that feels like a curse
Because I have problems all the same
But it's true
The sum of our troubles equal this game
That we lose
Even though I'd rather deal with *** and silence
Than to be vexed by violence
They're all just ways of imposing our will
Whether it's through who we birth or ****
Conflict is how we get our fill
Every day a different fire drill
We hate each other
We date each other
We underrate each other
To deflate each other
Pain is used as a tool
Until blood lays in a pool

These things that annoy us
Are met by avoidance
These things compound
Until I can't be unwound
I live in a world of contending intentions
It's a world of our own selfish invention
A world that burns bright
So I can't sleep
When day turns to night
I hear death creep
Seeking to take me from a life I never asked for
But I'm grateful to have
Life is about experimenting with opening doors
And I'm stuck in the lab

He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.

I've seen cops
way too many times,
too many times
to go through my ****
ripping apart pillows
with switches
and against my better judgment
I did nothing
as I heard the glass of
my grandmother's picture
being tossed around
in the back.

Too many times
asking me questions
about this
and that?
Him or her?
If you help us out,
we'll help you out,
understand?
in their rooms
where no love is grown
and no help is on the way,
their eyes were filled with the fire,
they were finally
gonna get this ******,
make him pay
for crimes he didn't commit.

Too many times
when i was asleep
in some old sewer,
and rolling up
asking me if i was on drugs
or drunk,
and if i didn't leave
they were gonna shove
a nightstick up my ***;
get me used to it.

Too many times have they slowed down
at a light
and turned slowly,
keeping their eyes on me
like I was a wolf,
when they had blood in their eyes
and teeth
in their holsters.

"Where you going tonight?"
as they surrounded me,
another inmate
inside the bounded
bars of an external prison.

Cops never helped me,
never asked
how I was doing,
or why I was doing it,
or why I felt trapped
inside my own body;
all they saw
was another ******
making problems
for the civilized people.

God will remember them,
just as I can't forget.

And most of the time,
it was other black men,
some fruit bred strong in them,
to hate them bottom-rung *******
because they had escaped
and remade themselves,
apparently.

In truth,
I have killed many of them
in my sleep,
but when I step back,
I see that they are a product
of the same system
that says the guns, drugs, and violence
are part of the ****** condition,
that only shows a ****** on tv
when he's *****, or killed somebody,
another mugshot for you to put in your
scrapbook of fear.


So, no I don't hate them,
I hate seeing people that look like me
getting killed
before they come to fruition.

I hate that
:"black"
is used as a term
meant to engender
fear.

I hate that I walk down the street,
and a white girl
walks ahead
turning around
to
check for me.

I hate that when me
and some of the homies
walk down the street,
our hoodies pulled over our heads,
people look behind us
for the grim reaper.

There is hope,
but without
it being fostered,
The fruits
die on the vine,
noosed up
in a new way
as they drop.

She moves like she's one of the amorphous personalities painted somewhere
Along the angled framework of her body pattern:
Handcrafted with the vivacious energy inherent
In my far-seeing dreams the vision of a long-ago queen of the holiest swamps
Traversing them coldly, shining her starlight to dispel all my awful ugly nightmares.
Riding sidesaddle with the billows of morning
Hair wisped about by the wind and blowing watercolor across
The beautiful blooming valleys of her crescent-shaded eye frame.

And weaving out from the delicate anthers of slyly tangled lashes
Comes the glittering deep ribbons loosely noosed about me with suction,
And it turns out that I can survive for ever without food or water
From only one such glance.
Lost in that glassy prism container like an obedient insect, forced
To love himself because all his misfortunes are waved away and explained
By the invisible guiding lines raised in joy at each corner of her faintly blushing lip-land.

Well, Breath-Stealer, even if we can only meet softly now -
A vanishing semblance caught by cold air on our exhales perhaps - soon,
Our individual apparitions will flesh themselves out of the nowhere of time coincidences
And out thankful togetherness can coagulate like feather cracks in crystal:
Two human forms finally able to ignore the vase between them
Sooner than the closest oceans that wave to us,
And surer than sunrise.

Burnt plastic and sweettarts
Exhaust and high stripped knee sox
The sun in the elevator sun
13 and high
Tossed to the side
Suburban lies
Nobody wants me even me
Especially me
Ill bet the gods
All odds against
This puny lie of a girl
A trashcan eulogy
Of mens greasy hands and beauty magazines I can't be
A doughnut I shouldn't eat
A home with no sweet
A school that's a street
Winding in circles
Around dogmatic beliefs
Whatever that means
I don't know who the **** I'm supposed to be
A tooth of ragged scream
Yeah 13
This is me
Yeah 13 **** me
Yeah 13
I'm done with everything
I could drive all night if I had a car
Listening to that sick rock n roll
I'd **** a girl if I only knew how
I'd go to sf and live with my party sister if only she’d let me
I can twist on my floor
Slam all the doors
Crawl to the beat
Abandoned truth un noosed in this distant melody
I roll between my ribs
It'll be ok
At least I hope I is
When I'm 18
And I I can leave
The ***** truths of parasite parenting
I will b
B free
Yeah maybe someday
Eyeliner
Bubblegum
And a rock band
someday
less heartache
I can’t wait

I struggle to remain indefatigable,
I ravage my mind my for hours on end,
My yearning is insatiable,
Flexuous with the concepts to send.
Laboriously sewn, tentatively spoken,
Nonchalantly cast off devastation because it’s broken.

I will never seek acceptance again,
Emancipated from the shackles of denial,
As long as I live I will regain,
And refrain from a judgemental trial.
Perspicaciously drawn, ultimately deduced,
To the gallows with all of my sins, tightly noosed.

They want blood and pain and agony,
All of which I have to give,
I’d rather than expressions of tragedy,
Show what it means to live.
And ponder the spiritual diadems,
Glistening, repetitive, fractals and gems.

My supplications ever so earnest,
Are outweighed by my insubordination.
It’s myself, my own intentions I must harness,
And live beyond my failings and degradation.
Ecstasy is my fruitful, forgiving friend,
Fear my enemy, unrelenting to the end.

Erumpent rampant vociferation,
Endeavouring to end all thoughts iniquitous,
And reclaim my rumination,
Dare I say nefarious?
Well if it is so, than I shall make it not be,
For I have lost all and now I must live for me.

I was an infant sounding out
vowels on labels fixated with
complexions not hearts.
Sermons spoken spilled salt

on wounds shaped from moments
when the sword was mightier than the pen.
I was mute as black blood
streamed letters the mature read

and dismissed as chicken scratch.
Pleas to unlock the chains noosed
around my heart, never heard,
until my ears opened to self acceptance—

the song hearts dance to without shame,
the vernacular spoken without stutter.
The key frees my soul from shackles
and dissolves the branded lesions borne.

They were just words.

I am no wave thing
No Moses basketed, noosed to the hip of an ocean,
born to be carried away by the tide thing
I'm not a thing that dips and dives and dies under this rubble and salt and sky
Not under these ******,
and sea lions
who charter their unlicensed vessels on my intimate things,
with no caution or care
they trail and leave their spills there
But i'm no wave thing
I'm not a thing who whips and crashes at the break of the wind
or the pull of the sky,
not created that cycle of fall and rise and fall and rise,
where the depths and heights you reach don’t even move you
Don’t even change you no more
or ever
How you look like yesterday's tears and damp and fog
and still cling to the dry and parched of things
How you baptise their bodies and their mouths
and get nothing more
than yourself back
in different form.
Cannot be that blind a thing,
that pushed to move to nowhere and everywhere at the same time
and back thing
and blue thing
and black to reflect the moods of the sky thing,
a neat mess of a thing
huddled to look the same as
and cling to everything else you were created next to forever thing,
void of choice, helpless,
yet so full of strength
and potential if you could escape thing  
inanimate and life at the same time thing,
a slave of creation thing.
Just a wave thing.
I will never be just a wave thing.

[a modified sestina]


My sister and I watched grandpa and grandma.
She has trained him into a service dog,
Sister has never been so marveled.
Grandma clears her throat and grandpa
clears her plate into the garbage.
My sister giggles. She has a thirst to learn.

My sister is ten when she rings in her first boyfriend.
Grandma crows that it’s lovely. I can see her mentally
checking off the list grandma made for her, thinks she's
taken the right step into womanhood. I can see it
in grandpa's trained face. He knows as I do that this
is only the beginning of her rise to the twisted Aphrodite.  

My sister is fifteen when she realizes she can puppet men
with the clink of her hips. She strolls with a boy lapping
at her heels, the next day she is with a new chump.
I ask of the boy, she snides that he is just a dip,
thing on the side, a mister, for when she is bored.
What god, do you think you've become? I spit.

She does not give me a second glance.
She nods his way and he dashes to the car door,
He doesn't dare let it brush against her arm.
She has mastered it, no need for lessons anymore.
She has achieved what grandma wouldn't dare touch.
I do not think she will stop here.

She is sixteen when I find her pooling
her eyes out on our father's front porch.
She spills They are gone.
The chump, the boyfriend, the dip, the mister,
all shelved her like a forgotten doll.
I bet they realize there is no love in puppetry.

I face her with no sympathy.
Can't expect men to tap dance on your string.
You can't bask in the burlesque of Aphrodite.
You wanted to be like grandma.
Grandma was noosed by the strings
she sowed onto grandpa before he left her.

No man will bow under a self-acclaimed god.
So, study this fall from Olympus.  
Understand, you are as human as we are.

the impenetrable stereotype
of typical American households
fussing
with bake sales, church functions, soccer games
where gremlins
push and shove and put their
grimy hands all over
clean novelties,
where chaotic supernatural creatures
bust and break and bite
pristine, picturesque products
that consumed hours of effort
and sweat

perfectly polished
hands dripping with gold and diamonds
swipe across a glistening brow
sighs escape
a pearl noosed neck colliding with the collar bone
of pressed dresses,
pick up your feathered orb to
twirl and taunt and tantalize your
uniformed, unwavering kingdom
where nothing is out of place
and order

kiss and cook and clean
care for screaming beasts
map out dangerous trails of silence and suppression
too deep a hole
to claw yourself out of
a forever binding contract
to voluntary servitude

Its getting about that time
that we all switch pictures
define ourselves in some new way
write plays about the years we didn't pay attention to whilst in them.

She glows.
Shifts in the distance like shifters do
mirrors the parts of me I cling to
splices in the new shade of blue

that some commoners cooked up one summer

I want to move like you do
I want to follow a tune that you grew
up out of that dangerous mouth of yours

I want to slip in unnoticed into your background
I want to leave you in the wake of a spellbound
insomnia silvia nightgown.

I'm a remix of secret decisions
that I would love to let you and your friend in.
Take the tour of the wicked and old sins
that I wrote when I worked for the lived-in.

But she's still staring loudly at the floor.
Forgetting what project I wrote for.
Forgetting what score I produced.
Forgetting why I haven't noosed myself quite yet.

She shifts in the distance like shifters do,
mirrors the parts of me I cling to.

My ability to expect
Is exceptionally disconnected
My head especially rejected
all the bad news I've been left with
Won't the sadness suddenly settle?
With all the battles noosed and beheaded
I'd be headed back to the moon
But even the bats know I'm embedded
I misread whatever was said and now it's our backs stabbed and regretted
Thinking:
if you had my back
it wouldn't have been that bad to begin with
Let's begin with some forgiveness
If you would sit down and actually listen
and when I'm finished you can pretend that in the end everything's different

you try to stroke the bowl of my belly, it's not romantic & sends the sea swimming my muddy eyes a flood.  your mouth sounds out words; they ask how i'm feeling, but i don't tell you what i didn't eat for breakfast this morning or the triple digit number of calories shoved down my throat yesterday.  i don't mention the measuring tape noosed about my waist, just to keep those twenty-two inches slender.  how could i explain how sometimes i gently imagine wild animals tearing off my flesh them teeth scalpel sharp until me a pile of glittering bones.  until i am perfect.  you desert mirage.  you so so very sweet leaf tea dancing on my tongue & these days, i miss you like summer when you drive to the movies.  wanna wrap my narrow ankles round & round your blue black throat & sink my teeth deep in your lower lip.

Fists contorted into gang sign slogan
Chest drenched in the ink bestowed by brothers
face scarred and eyes dry of tears
sorrow glued to the billboard of your mouth

What would little brother think?
seeing superhero caught in petty crime bloodbath,
Noosed around your neck, you wear your colors well,

arsenal in jeans,
fistful of blades,
Sin in your mouth,
too suave for war tonight,

so you will cruise the block,
just as last night,
and the night before,
and the night before that,

waiting,
for someone
to move a muscle.

Some just loveth by their chatter
Some loveth only by their action;
Some just showeth love from fear
Some just loveth for distraction.

Some just loveth to not hate
Others just loveth by their fate;
Some loveth only whilst in death
Others loveth from their last breathe.

Some loveth, from wanting none abuse
Others loveth before their necks art noosed;
Everyone wilt loveth us sadly when we're dead
At ourn gravesite, they'll be bowing their heads.....



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

Drunken and distraught,
wide awake, teetering off sanity's pave
The hard liquor bottle turns clear
Nearing emptiness, of soul and rocks  
Pain that lingers
Anew with the last chug
Icy floor, face down drowning in tears and sweat,
Bruised and broken
Bloodied by a fist so mighty and raw
Strangled by a mute reality
A reverse of a parallel universe
A past irreversible
Fast rewind to right before the muscle tension
Before the limb landed
Before the rumble between two stars
The explosion of the expelled now dead star
Choking off the missed lanes
Wrong turns,
Noosed in staring down at a pool of regret
Compressed airways,
Withering breath,
Twitching feet,
Circling 'round a live cemetery ,
Momentary respite,
a note slips from the grip
As she finds release

rife oh do you the new totally unique
obscene with low lean muscles Spring
feel not so near so far when stocks of
earth are steeped in deep so roots a'dying

(the little glad hand of sun outstretches
and into reaches the noosed purple
of aching darkness' ancient peak

the unfurling nuisance
of its ardent beam
to let of golden crimson
a burning rill to pour from far above)

all wan glory

all feable living

in the broken body of the shriveled Dove

You still hold my heart
              around your neck.
Chained like you own it.

I,m empty without it,
          I never wanted you to go.
its like if you didn't


                                       want me.

But though I want to love again.

          I feel nothing, because you still
have my heart noosed around your neck.

Beating close to you, but you just squeeze it.
             And I feel pain where there is nothing
                                                                ­     to feel.

She leans back,
head rested
head bumping up
and down
like
waterfalls that
sometimes
loose their
magical
glow and
get
confused.

Her sunglasses rest
restrain her glowing face
like the
headlights that
reflect from her
eyes
hidden from sight
she feels the
creases of the
plastic in
her cheeks
curling
impressions like
footprints on
the sand
into her
jawline

like kisses
she thinks
that hang
too long
on the
cusp of her
morning breath.

She had
searched
all morning
for the make up
that fit her
botched
skin tone
her arms had
been a
canvas of
experimental
design
like that
painting
she sometimes
pretends to
stare at

she is artist
she murmurs
as she
looks at
that vase
which
seems so

flat.

She
wears the
make up
not because
she wants to
be
or
feel
beautiful,
she does not want
the sunbeams
to shine
from under
her fingernails
or her
lips
to light up
like
christmas
baubels,
she coats
it as
penance
for a past
life
for the craggled
hag that
has no voice
in her
sternum
its oldened
fingers
tap on
her
waistline
like
measuring
utensils.

She wears
the make up
to
cover up
her
morning breath

the morning
sunlight
had
cast
a
brutal gleam
upon her
showing
all her
dark spots

she wears
make up
as
penance
for the
devilish thoughts
that bounce
like
raindrops
off her
steel roof

of the whispered
mercies
of the
voiceless
hag that
hangs in
her
noosed
throat

she wears
penance
like its
a beautiful
blush

like drifted
snow has
coated her
skin and
she is
now
destroyed

she covers
up the
crinkled
muesli
bar
hag that
sings
old
folk tales
in her
lips

the rogue
red
that
tastes like

his blood.

How can I lie to you!
I am, a cold disguise
of a sad and wise dicision.

In a time of secret woe,
my turmoil is "slavery's chains"
binding the art too long,
slaves in chain
manhandling the craft so wrong.

Today prepares tomorrow's ruin,
the final desolation,
tears rolling deep as crystal rags
viscous tatters
Of a worn-out soul.

My heart is torn asunder,
my conscience echoes thunder
then pain stalks into plunder
my spirit is crushed in a *** of anguish & lamentations.

My lonely wine is bitter draught
too deep in silence
my womb bore literature
as burning sulphur to ease the mind.

When you came to me,
unbidden and bare,
reckoning me
to long-ago rooms,
where memories lie.
trunks of sacred ritual
I cried.

I have seen beyond seeming
these days of bloodied screaming
of children dying bloated
out where lilies floated
the clang of cymbals falls down the years.
this brother's sold,
this sister's gone.

Of men all noosed and dangling
within the temples strangling
dead scrolls, without token of victory.

Joy, weeps deeply
making music with his very tears,
trying to ease the years,
causing everyone to have a feel of his heart,
  as raindrops on they skin.

I speak naked and bare
of our beginning
our origin of the deep from Adam,

I pray thee,
may the Spirit full of long suffering
build an ark of compassion
for his rest as Noah,
upon hell & high waters,
were Justice comes with
inner calmness
and Judgement is glorious.

Do not bring light to the dark
only bring a deeper smoke
light is for the day,
as sure as sight is for the young
then you can interprete Job.

Search, consider & follow counsel
until your eyes grows dim
and deep as dark waters,
so that when the bell tolls
  with understanding
you'll walks through the path
of sacred eternal life,
as sure as wisdom is a lamp for thy feet
then you'll be ordered by Melchizedek,

Have you not heard;
the wise elders of Hella's
learnt from the princes of kemet!
and all the prince of Kemet
  shall run out before the king of kush
and the garden will be restored once again down to Ur ?

Has ABBA not formed & pattern our thoughts purely,
has HIM not guided and lead our mind to righteous path only,
was I Am ever a toddler
bored and lonely,
has YHWZ. not made life full of essence beyond measures !
has the Son of man not made the past
& the Son of God already prepared for the future.

But who acknowledges
the oath of the crushed spirit
that preserves the universe.

Who regards the mind that was broken to pieces while establishing
the narrow path.

Who knows,
the depth(sorrow) of the deep mourning soul
& how the ancient percept & lines,
percept & lines
are being set.

who truly reasoned
& considers the emotion that is being cruxified to straighten the crooked path
Just to have the lines falls in pleasant places.

Every word of the Most-High,
is a living Will
sacred and pure
it is the design of the everlasting creator.